


There's No Such Thing As Faeries

by thedarklordsatan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, BAMF Castiel, Bloodplay, Dom Castiel, Dom/sub, Fae!Castiel, Knifeplay, M/M, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarklordsatan/pseuds/thedarklordsatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is sick, and Dean can't help him.  Magic won't work, and no demon will make a deal to save one of the notorious Winchesters.  Just when Dean's lost all hope, his faerie godfather Castiel appears with a proposition for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Such Thing As Faeries

“God — fucking — DAMMIT!”

Dean kicked the driver’s door of the Impala with every word. His toes throbbed in his boot but he ignored the pain, his mind on Sam. Sammy, his little brother, who he was supposed to protect…

A wordless scream of frustration ripped from Dean’s throat and he kicked the car three more times before he burst into tears, unable to hold them in any longer. Sam was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. No demon would make a deal, and no spell he could find would save him. All he could do was watch as Sam wasted away in the hospital. After all those years, after everything they’d fought and beaten, after all the battles and near-death experiences, cancer took him. The whole time, the fatal enemy had been within, and now he was too far gone to be saved.

Dean was helpless. 

As he sobbed, he was very glad he’d decided to go for a drive to take his mind off things. If he’d bawled like this in the hospital parking lot, he’d feel even worse than he did before, like a fucking baby, totally incapable of controlling anything in his life, and people would try to escort him to the psych ward where he probably belonged. But here in the country, he was alone, and in his solitude, he felt safe.

That solitude, however, was short-lived.

Dean wasn’t aware of the figure by the trunk of the Impala until it spoke, its deep voice breaking the still air as if it were glass.

“Hello, Dean. Why so blue?”

Dean reacted immediately, jumping to his feet and pulling the Colt out of his jacket pocket, but the creature was faster, and in the blink of an eye, Dean found himself unarmed and face down in the dirt several feet away.

“Silly boy. You think you can hurt me?” the voice purred, drawing nearer.

“Who are you?” rasped Dean, spitting dust as he propped himself up on his hands and knees. That hit had knocked the wind right out of him. His chest ached, and when he dragged himself to his feet, a stabbing pain shot through his ribcage. At least one rib was fractured, maybe more. Whatever this thing was, it could pack one hell of a punch.

“I am Castiel,” the creature replied. “Your faerie godfather.”

Dean blinked. “My what?”

“You heard me.”

The Winchester wiped his teary eyes and gave his adversary the once-over. It looked human, at least for the most part, but there was something about it that screamed of age and power. He was exceptionally handsome — flawless pale skin, short dark hair with an intentionally messy style, a long, elegant nose in the center of a perfectly sculpted face. He wore just enough stubble to give him a wild, uncontrollable look. His eyes were what gave him away as inhuman. They were impossibly blue, like the sky just after sunset, and deep as the pits of Hell itself. Dean shivered when he looked into those soulless cobalt orbs, sensing the boundless power beyond them.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Dean said, staring at the creature in front of him.

“I shit you not,” Castiel assured him. “Faeries can’t tell an outright lie, remember?”

“But the Fae aren’t supposed to be real!” Dean blubbered. “Faerie lore came from demons possessing humans; they don’t actually exist!”

“And yet here I am.” Castiel crossed his arms. “Do I look like a demon to you, Dean? I’m the real deal. Splash holy water on me if it makes you feel better, but it won’t do much for you.”

The human watched this “Faerie” suspiciously, but dammit, he actually believed the bastard. He didn’t have the same presence as a demon, though he did seem like the manipulative type. And if he were a demon, he’d have to be one hell of a player to have the power he did. It seemed unlikely that something this powerful would go unnoticed in the Hunter world.

“Say I believe you. Say you are a — a Faerie,” Dean started, feeling incredibly stupid as he said it. “What are you doing here?”

“Your mother and I were allies in the past,” he explained. “When you were born, she made a deal with me: that after she died, I would watch over you. I would help you if you ever found yourself in desperate need.”

“I’ve been in desperate need my whole damn life; why do you just show up now all of a sudden?” Dean demanded.

Castiel tilted his head and smirked. “You honestly think you got out of all those tight spots by yourself? That demon Meg has almost killed you, what, five times now? You think you survived by dumb luck?” He snorted. “I didn’t think you were that cocky, Dean.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “What did my mother promise you in return?” he growled, ignoring the comment.

The faerie looked away, his expression almost bitter. “A favor that I could ask whenever I saw fit. I failed to collect on that before Azazel killed her.” Castiel’s sapphire eyes narrowed. “However, I am still bound by contract to look after you.”

“So you’re here to help Sam?” Dean asked, suddenly hopeful. Faeries were said to have more powerful magic than demons and witches put together; if anything could save Sam, it was one of the Fae.

Castiel grinned at Dean. “I can save your brother — for a price.”

The human scowled, his hands balling into fists. “I thought you were supposed to protect us.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Castiel corrected him. “Sam is not my responsibility.”

He’s mine, thought Dean angrily.

“So you’ll only help him if I make a deal?”

“Essentially, yes. I could do it out of the goodness of my heart, but…” The faerie chuckled darkly, his night-sky eyes just slits in his beautiful face. “I wouldn’t count on that happening anytime soon. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

“You’re sick, you know that?” Dean snarled, ready to beat that beautiful face to a pulp.

Castiel only shrugged. “I am kind-hearted compared to some of my kin.”

Dean clenched his teeth. He knew Faeries were twisted; how else would demons be mistaken for them? But if this bastard was a good guy, Dean was in for a world of trouble.

“So, do you want to make a deal or not? Your brother doesn’t have time to waste,” Castiel pointed out, inspecting his long fingers with disinterest. Dean resisted the urge to bash his stupid faerie skull in and asked softly, “What do you want?”

“What will you give, Dean? That is the question.” The Faerie looked up from his hands to meet Dean’s furious gaze. He didn’t so much as blink at the utter rage that greeted him.

Dean swallowed and dropped his stare to his feet. “Anything,” he breathed. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just save my brother. Heal him. Let him live. He doesn’t deserve to die this way.”

“Would you take on your mother’s debt?” asked Castiel. “Would you take the favor that she never had to complete?”

“Anything,” Dean repeated firmly.

“Then we have an accord.”

He held out his hand for Dean to shake. The human watched it steadily, and then said, “Say it. Say exactly what I’m agreeing to. You Faeries can’t lie, right? I just want to make sure that I’m not getting gypped.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, for the first time looking genuinely angry.

“Fine,” hissed the Fae. “I will heal your brother now so that he may live as long as you will do me one favor that I will decide at a later time. Now do we have a deal or not?”

Dean hesitated for a moment; then, he took the hand that was offered to him. The wind suddenly picked up and magic thrummed in the air as the deal was struck. It only lasted for a second though, and before he knew it, the Faerie was gone.

Immediately, Dean ran for the Impala and scrambled into the driver’s seat. He jammed the keys into the ignition and shot off toward the city to see Sam.

…

“So, where to?” Dean asked Sam, shoveling apple pie into his mouth.

“Marquet, Ohio,” Sam replied. He swiveled his laptop around to show Dean the news article about the seven missing children. “Seven kids missing, all from one neighborhood on the high-end side of town.”

“Damn, seven?” asked Dean. “Won’t the feds be all over that?”

“They were, a few weeks ago, but as soon as they showed up, all of the kidnappings stopped. They found no trace, no evidence, absolutely no clues as to where the kids could be.”

“So whatever this thing is, it’s smart, and it doesn’t want to be caught,” Dean mumbled through a mouthful of pie.

“Exactly. As for what it could be, I’m not sure. We’ll need to go and investigate ourselves in order to determine our suspects.”

“Okay. Let’s get go—”

Dean froze mid-sentence when he saw him. Castiel, the Faerie, staring at him from across the diner. He smiled when Dean noticed him, and motioned with one finger for Dean to come.

“Uh, you go out to the car. I’ll be right there,” Dean said.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam demanded.

“Nothing, just someone I used to know,” his brother lied. “Go. I’ll be out in a sec.”

Sam reluctantly gathered his things and left. Dean crossed the diner slowly, watching Castiel warily with every step. It had been over a year since he’d last seen him. Could it really be time to repay his debt? Faeries lived for thousands of years according to the legends, and they took their sweet time collecting on their deals; Dean hadn’t expected this day to come for another decade at least.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted him. “Have a seat.”

Dean sat in the booth across from the Faerie, his eyes never leaving the creature before him. “Been a while,” Dean commented.

“A year is like a week to me,” Castiel replied. “I don’t think you understand just how long I’ve been around.”

“Spare me your life story. What do you want?”

Castiel’s grin turned into a smirk almost imperceptibly; the expressions were so close that Dean almost missed the difference. “You know why I’m here, Dean Winchester, or have you already forgotten? I didn’t peg you for stupid.”

“You’re here to collect your favor,” Dean stated through clenched teeth, “but what’s the favor?”

“There’s someone who has upset me, but unfortunately, I am unable to harm him in any way,” Castiel explained. “I want you to kill him.”

The faerie slid a manilla folder across the table to Dean, who picked it up and dumped out several pictures of an older, angry-looking man.

“What is he?” asked Dean, flipping through the photos.

“Human,” Castiel replied casually.

“No way.” Dean threw down the pictures on the table. “No, I won’t hunt a human.”

“You don’t have a choice, Dean. You agreed to carry out a favor for me, and this is the favor I have selected. You have no right to pick and choose what you will and won’t do for me. I can always just give little Sammy his cancer again.”

The look in Dean’s eye could down a troll at fifty paces, but Castiel didn’t react.

“Besides, he’s a very bad man. Murderer, thief, rapist… You name it, he’s probably done it. He’s more monster than human. So really, it’s just like any of your other hunts.”

Dean closed his eyes and thought it over for a minute before he recognized that he didn’t have a choice. With a sigh, he asked, “Who is he?”

“Winslow Butcher. Nasty son of a bitch. He was very rude to me during our last encounter, and I’d like to show him who’s boss.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” asked Dean grumpily.

“I told you, I can’t. He is… protected by some of my superiors. However, matters between two humans don’t concern them. As far as they’re concerned, if Butcher can’t hold his own against one of his own kind, he’s useless to them. So if you go after him, they won’t try to stop you.”

“Why is he protected? Is there something I should know?”

“I told you, they aren’t concerned with the affairs of humans. You have nothing to worry about,” Castiel insisted firmly.

“Is he a player?” Dean guessed darkly.

The faerie raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

“Can he use magic? Hex bags, devil’s traps, the works. Obviously he knows about the supernatural world, but how much does he know?”

“Enough to protect himself, but you don’t have to worry, he’s not a regular practitioner. If you manage to surprise him, he won’t be able to prepare any heavy-duty magic to use against you.”

“Where is he now?”

“Everything you need to know is in that file. I want it done in three days.”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s not nearly enough time to—”

“Cancer seems a little overdone, doesn’t it? I think something slower would be more befitting to Sam, don’t you?” mused Castiel.

“Go to hell,” growled Dean.

“I have a vacation spot there,” the Faerie responded without missing a beat. Dean didn’t know how to reply to that, much less how to reply to the unreadable expression on Castiel’s face. For the first time in a very long time, he was left speechless.

“Three days,” Castiel repeated. “Don’t fail me, Dean. It will mean very bad things for your brother.”

Dean blinked and the faerie was gone, leaving nothing but a tip on the table.

…

“I don’t understand, Dean: What is going on? What do you have to hunt that I can’t help you with?” Sam questioned his brother from the passenger’s seat.

“I told you, I’m repaying a debt, and I don’t think I’m allowed to have any help,” Dean replied, his eyes never leaving the road (for once).

“A debt to who? Why the hell wouldn’t I be allowed to help?” Sam’s face darkened. “This is about last year, isn’t it? The cancer. You made a deal, didn’t you? Goddammit, Dean, you swore you didn’t make a deal!”

“I didn’t make a deal with a crossroads demon, Sam,” Dean sighed. “I made a deal with a Faerie.”

His brother just stared at him in disbelief. “A what?”

“A Faerie, okay? Stop making me repeat it; I feel stupid enough already.”

“Dean, look at me. Look here, at my face.”

Dean glared at his brother.

“Faeries. Aren’t. Real,” Sam said slowly. “Repeat after me. Faeries—”

“Sam, do you really think I would tell you I made a deal with a Faerie if I wasn’t being completely serious?” snapped Dean, looking back to the deserted country road.

“Actually, I think you’ve used faeries in several of your smartass remarks in the past,” Sam replied.

“Well, I’m not kidding this time. This Faerie made a deal with me, and now it’s collecting. I have three days to hunt this guy — this thing — and I really can’t waste time with you right now.” 

“Wait, he’s having you hunt a guy? A human? Dean, that goes against everything we were taught!”

Dean ignored his brother and continued. “I’ll drop you off in Marquet and head toward Pennsylvania. Do some research, try to figure out what we’re dealing with. I’ll be back before you know it. Just don’t get yourself killed.”

“Dean, are you even hearing yourself? You’re going to kill a man you’ve never even met!”

“To save your life, Sammy!” Dean shouted. “He said he’d kill you if I don’t follow through. I’m doing this for you, Sam. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I don’t want you to do this for me, Dean! I don’t want you to kill someone for me!”

“It’s not like I’m killing an innocent schoolteacher, Sam; the bastard’s a rapist, a killer! I’m doing the world a favor, two actually: getting rid of him and saving you!”

Sam shook his head and looked out the window with a grunt of disapproval, but Dean disregarded it. If his brother couldn’t appreciate this, fine. He’d just have to deal, because nothing he could say would change Dean’s mind. Butcher would die and Sam would live. That was more than a fair trade.

The ride went on for hours, and in the wee hours of the morning, they arrived in the small town of Marquet. Dean dropped off Sam at a cheap motel and was on his way to Sampson, Pennsylvania in no time. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. The less time he had to deal with Castiel, the better. After he finished this job, he hoped he never had to see that faerie dick again.

Several hours later, Dean arrived in Sampson. He pulled the Impala into a diner parking lot and headed inside, hungry as hell. Rage tended to burn a lot of calories, especially when it sat quietly inside, begging to get out and kill the bastard that stood in the way of Sam’s livelihood. Dean sat down at a table and ordered a large breakfast. He was one of three people in the restaurant, as it was five in the morning and in a town like this, most everyone was in bed asleep. Why someone with a rap sheet as long as Butcher’s would choose to live in a place this small was beyond Dean, but he was thankful for it nonetheless. It was much easier to hide in cities, and Dean didn’t have time to search block by block in Philadelphia or some shit.

As he waited for his meal, Dean took out the information Castiel had provided him with. He had every charge ever brought up against Butcher, even the ones that were dropped or expunged. Castiel must have had some connections in high places to get documents like that, and Dean wondered just how many faeries walked among the humans, controlling their world subtly from behind the scenes. It was a frightening though, and Dean shoved it aside when his breakfast came.

“That’s an awful lot of paperwork you have there,” commented the waitress as she set the plate down in front of the hunter. Dean glanced up at her, hiding the files and photos under the folder they came in. The waitress blushed and looked away apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Here’s your breakfast, sir.”

“No, it’s no problem,” he replied sincerely. The waitress was young and pretty, a touch on the innocent side, but Dean didn’t mind that. He had a way with women that made them forget what was right and wrong. “Thanks.”

She smiled at him, her teeth surprisingly white and straight. He gave her a casual once-over, taking in her cute little uniform, right down to the knee-high socks. A nametag on her chest declared her name in kind, flowery lettering. Kyrie.

“I’m Dean.” Dean returned her smile, trying to look energetic despite the fact that he’d had next to no sleep in the past twenty-four hours. “How do you pronounce your name?”

“Kai-ree,” she replied.

“Pretty.”

“Thanks.” He could tell from the growing smile on her face that he’d basically made her day.

“Kyrie, stop flirting with the customer and mop, willya?” came a harsh voice from the kitchen. The waitress blushed horribly and muttered a flustered goodbye to Dean as she hurried off to work. Dean watched her go and then began to stuff his face with pancakes. His concentration returned to the Butcher file, glancing over the facts he had. The guy didn’t appear to have a job, at least not a legal one, and the only permanent address under his name was to a small apartment on the town square. According to the papers, he also had several storage boxes spread all over the states. God only knew what those were for.

Dean stuffed the material back into the envelope and set to finishing his breakfast. When he finished his third cup of coffee, he ordered a slice of pie to go and paid for the bill with his fake credit card, heading on his way and making sure to shoot a warm smile at Kyrie as he left. He revved the Impala’s engine and drove off toward the center of Sampson, to the square where his target resided. Somehow, Castiel knew that Butcher would be in town for the next few days, even though the creep seemed to spend all his time traveling. Dean didn’t question the faerie’s knowledge, but a bad feeling nagged him the whole way to the apartment.

He parked the Impala and observed the parked cars along the street. One of them he recognized as Butcher’s red convertible Camry, so he lay in wait for Butcher quietly, eating his pie and biding his time. Several hours later, Winslow Butcher exited his apartment and stepped into the daylight, squinting. He shaded his eyes with his hand and headed to his car, disappearing within. Dean’s hand went instinctively to the ignition.

“Don’t follow him.”

Dean started so badly that he hit his head on the ceiling of the car. He whipped around and stared in anger and shock at Castiel himself.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean hissed, rubbing his head.

“Making sure you don’t get yourself killed,” Castiel replied. “Feel free to thank me anytime.”

“So you blackmail me into killing this guy and then you tell me how to do the job?”

“I don’t want you fucking up,” the Fae told him darkly. “Didn’t you read the file I gave you?”

“Of course I did,” Dean replied irritably. “How else would I have known to come here?”

“Clearly you didn’t read closely enough,” Castiel mumbled. He sighed. “Butcher is cocky, but he’s not stupid. He’d be able to tell if someone was following him, especially in a town this small and a car this conspicuous. However, he wouldn’t expect anyone to have the gall to attack him in his own home. Break into his apartment and wait for him there. Ambush him when he gets back. Is that so hard?”

“Why didn’t you just tell me to do that in the first place?!” Dean snapped.

“Because I hoped that you’d figure it out yourself!” Castiel shouted. “Go. Now. I will not help you again.”

Dean moved to take a swing at the faerie bastard, but Castiel was gone before he could so much as make a fist.

“Damn!” the human muttered, slamming his head back against the seat in frustration. The jerk was really starting to get to him. First he threatens Sam, and now he was questioning his skills as a hunter? That son of a bitch was going to get it when this ordeal was over…

Dean made sure the street was mostly deserted before he got out of the Impala and walked over to the door Butcher had exited. He jiggled the handle and found it to be unlocked, so he entered and wandered up the staircase in search of apartment 201. Picking the lock took only seconds, and no one was around to watch, so he just stepped inside the apartment and decided to take a look around. The place was small and looked relatively un-lived in. A thin layer of dust covered most everything but the bed and a few shelves. Dean couldn’t find a single out of place thing there. If the guy was a monster, where was the sleaze? Where was the stash of weapons, the drawer full of protective seals and cursed items, the accounts of past murders or other crimes? There was a pistol residing in the drawer of the bedside table, but outside of that, the place was clean. Dean began to wonder if Butcher was really the monster Castiel had made him out to be.

After a good ten minutes of snooping around, Dean found a spot to hide that couldn’t be seen from the door and sat down. He had no way of knowing how long Butcher would be out, so he just made himself comfortable and waited, humming Led Zeppelin. As promised, Castiel didn’t reappear. Dean felt very alone. He’d been on hunts by himself before, but this felt different for some reason. He wished that he was back in Marquet with Sam, or at least that Sam was with him there at the apartment. It felt wrong to be there without his brother.

Hours passed before Dean noted any sign of someone approaching. He got ready to attack when he heard footsteps in the hallway, but it turned out to be someone for another apartment. About half an hour after that, he heard keys in the door to 201. Dean pulled the sawed-off shotgun out of his jacket and took a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst.

The door creaked as it opened and shut behind the entrant. Dean held his breath as the footsteps drew nearer. As soon as Butcher came into view, Dean pounced, lunging at him and bringing the butt of his gun down in an arch toward the back of the man’s head. Butcher reacted faster than Dean had expected of a man his age, and twisted the gun out of Dean’s hands, landing a kick to his stomach. The Winchester doubled over and barely jumped out of the way of a bullet, rolling over the bed and landing on his ass behind it. He scrambled to his feet and leapt for the older man. Butcher swung the gun at him but Dean was ready and he caught it, ripping it from the other man’s grasp and tossing it to the ground. One hand closed around Butcher’s throat and the other blocked an attempted punch. Dean linked one leg around Butcher’s and knocked it out from under him, letting both of them fall. Now, he managed to pin the older man’s arms with his knees and used both hands to choke Butcher. The man kicked and bucked beneath him, but Dean kept putting pressure on his neck. He couldn’t bear to look the man in the eye as he killed him, and instead kept his gaze trained on the flooring directly above Butcher’s head. His breathing was heavy while Butcher’s had stopped completely and was replaced by ugly sounds that he assumed were meant to be gasps for air. The man struggled and fought, but slowly, certainly, he grew weaker. Eventually, he went completely still.

Dean heaved a premature sigh of relief and let go of the Butcher just as a silver mist appeared around his body, seemingly coming from inside him. The vapor flowed from Butcher into Dean, and suddenly, he felt very cold. Every muscle froze as the fog rushed into his chest and spread like ice water through his veins. Once the last of it disappeared into Dean, he was thrown backward into the wall by an invisible force and slid down to the floor, aching all over. What the hell had just happened?

His body felt heavy and numb, but Dean managed to lift his head just enough to see Castiel looming over him, grinning like a maniac. “Good boy,” he purred. “You’ve done well.”

“What did you do to me?” Dean breathed, his chest tight.

“I didn’t do anything,” Castiel assured him. “You did. You killed the Winter Knight, and now you must take his place.”

The what? Dean tried to ask, but Castiel knelt beside him and placed a slender finger over his lips, silencing him. “Don’t talk. Rest. I’ll explain later, my Knight.”

The darkness closed in, and Dean’s eyes fluttered shut.

…

Cold. Everything was cold.

Dean thought of nothing else when he next awoke, alone in the dark. He tried to move but found that he was chained down, and his muscles weren’t responding properly, either. Whatever happened had sure taken a lot out of him.

Or put a lot in.

He remembered Castiel saying something about a Winter Knight, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it had to do with him. The unbearable cold was fucking with his memory…

A burst of light flooded his vision, momentarily blinding Dean. He squinted and was eventually able to make out the general features of Castiel standing over him.

“Good morning, my Knight. Nice of you to finally join us,” the Faerie greeted the half-conscious mortal.

“Where am I?” Dean asked. He found it easier to breathe and speak then, though the air was so cold it hurt to breathe it in.

“The heart of Winter,” Castiel replied. “You know the lore about the Faerie Courts, correct? Well, you’ve just injected yourself into the middle of one. Congratulations.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean tried to sit up, but the chains that bound him were tight and unyielding. He took this chance to look around, finding himself in a dull room made of some sort of bluish white stone. The metal chains held him down on a stone slab that was carved with some sort of strange pattern. Dean couldn’t recognize it from the little he could see, but he doubted it was for anything good.

“Faeries are bound by certain laws in the supernatural world, a bit like crossroads demons are bound by their laws. Several of those laws involve intervening in the affairs of mortals and other Fae. However, these laws don’t apply to mortals. So each Faerie Court has a human among their ranks as a Knight, sort of a supernatural hit-man extraordinaire that answers to the Queen of their Court and to other nobles. Since they’re mortal, they can die rather easily, and if someone kills them, they gain the power and become the next Knight. Butcher was the Winter Knight. You killed him. Do the math.”

“So I’m Winter’s bitch?!” Dean yelped. “I didn’t agree to that!”

“You did, actually, when you agreed to kill Butcher,” Castiel explained. “I just failed to mention that part of the deal. Oops.”

“You sick bastard,” growled the human, fighting the restraints with everything he had. “Why would you do this to me?!”

Castiel tilted his head and met Dean’s gaze with his penetrating blues. “Why?” His face softened. “Because I like you, Dean. You’re interesting. I wanted to have you around, but I knew you wouldn’t leave your brother willingly. So I had to use other methods to bring you here.”

“You tricked me because you have a thing for me? Because that makes a shitload of sense, Castiel! Didn’t anyone ever tell you that people don’t like being betrayed?” Dean shouted at the faerie.

“Your mother told me that all the time,” he replied. “But I think you’ll change your mind when you hear what comes with this deal.”

“Nothing will change my mind about you being a dick, Castiel,” Dean promised the Fae. “You’ve burned that into my brain pretty damn well at this point.”

Castiel grinned. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to mislead you. Oh, wait. Sorry.”

A low growl emanated from Dean’s throat, but the faerie just laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, you do get some perks. From here on out, you will be protected by Mab’s guards, so no faerie can lay a harmful hand on you. You get a physical strength boost, and some limited magical abilities from Winter itself. The Court will cater to your every need. We will provide you with a place to live, as many personal servants as you want, and basically anything else you could possibly desire. You want a Coke? Snap your fingers and a powerful faerie will hand-deliver one to you, no matter where you are. Of course, that is just figurative, so don’t bother snapping your fingers now.”

“If this whole Winter Knight thing is so great, why am I chained down?” asked Dean darkly.

“Because I don’t want you to kill me,” Castiel said simply. “If you pinky promise not to hurt me, I’ll release you.”

Dean smirked. “I’m not one to make promises I can’t keep.”

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to stay there for the time being.” Castiel ruffled Dean’s hair. “Fine by me.”

“Fine, whatever. Just get rid of the damn chains, wouldja?” Dean asked grudgingly.

Castiel snapped his fingers and Dean was free. The human sat up, feeling every vertebra pop as he stretched. He cracked his neck and fingers as well, rubbing his wrist where the ice-cold chain had dug into his skin.

“So, I’m the Winter Knight now, huh? No ifs, ands, or buts about it?” asked Dean grumpily.

“I’m afraid so. Watch out for Mab. Butcher was quite a teacher’s pet, if you will. She liked him a lot. You may want to be on your guard.”

Dean blinked. “You mean the Queen of the Winter Court wants to kill me? Fuck! Can she even do that?”

Castiel let out a guffaw. “Are you kidding? She’s the fucking Queen, Dean. She can do whatever she damn well pleases.”

Dean swore under his breath. “I didn’t sign up for this shit!” he expressed, frustrated.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Winchester. I’m still bound to protect you, remember? I won’t let Mab get to you.” Castiel’s eyes, formerly teasing and just a bit cruel, took on a new emotion, something distant but intimate all at once. Dean looked away, feeling as though he’d glimpsed something he wasn’t meant to see. “You’re safe with me,” the faerie stated.

“Right. Um,” Dean started, and then realized he didn’t know what to say. What does one say when they’re forced to start a new life? He had so many questions that he didn’t know where to start. Soon enough, he’d sorted out his priorities enough to ask the most important one.

“Can I see Sam?”

“Not right now,” Castiel told him. “You’re in Winter because you haven’t grown accustomed to your newfound power. Once you’ve trained and wised up a little, I can arrange for you to return to the mortal world and visit Sam.”

“Can you have someone explain to him what’s going on?” Dean really didn’t want to drag Sam in the whole Faerie business, but he couldn’t just disappear for god knows how long without a word. It would tear Sam apart, and Dean couldn’t do that to his brother.

Castiel agreed and sent out a messenger immediately. He then conjured up a chair and sat down, studying Dean intensely as the human looked around the barren room.

“Is this place made of ice?” he asked, sudden realization dawning on him.

“Cute and smart,” the faerie mused. “No wonder your mother wanted me to protect you.”

Dean wisely chose not to respond to that comment and instead turned his full attention to the stone table he had been chained to. “What is this thing anyway? Some kind of ritual altar? Do Fae summon demons, too?”

Castiel scoffed. “We don’t need demons to do our dirty work, Dean. We do it ourselves, or make someone else do it, but demons? Believe it or not, we do have standards.”

“Then what’s it for?”

“Magic,” the faerie replied.

Dean stared at the creature, half-smiling. “Wow. Thanks for enlightening me.”

“You didn’t exactly ask me a specific question, sweetheart. Why should I give you anything more than a vague response?”

The human bit his lip to refrain from losing his temper. He didn’t know what to think of Castiel yet, but he knew one thing — he was one sassy motherfucker.

“What kind of magic is this used for?” Dean asked finally.

Castiel looked at the stone table, his expression solemn. “Dark magic. Powerful magic. The kind of magic that could throw the entire world into chaos.” When his gaze returned to Dean, so did his grin. “That specific enough for you?”

Shocked, Dean only nodded. He hadn’t really expected a straight answer from a Fae. They were known for dancing circles around questions for centuries at a time.

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asked out of the blue. Dean hadn’t really thought about it, but as soon as it was mentioned, his stomach let out a loud growl. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Any requests?”

Dean blinked. They were actually going to feed him? He’d heard so many horrible things about the Fae, especially the Winter Court, he’d just assumed they were going to lock him in a cell and leave him to rot. But it made sense, he supposed. He was their new assassin. They needed him alive and in good condition.

“I wouldn’t say no to a bacon cheeseburger,” the human suggested.

“Ask, and you shall receive,” said Castiel. He disappeared.

Over the next few weeks, Dean saw no one but the faerie Castiel. As promised, he was well-fed — somehow Castiel knew just what he wanted to eat and when he wanted to eat it — and well-cared for, having access to a ridiculously large wardrobe filled with all kinds of clothes, a working television, and an unlimited amount of booze, which Dean took advantage of as often as he could. But as great as all that was, it was hard to enjoy it when he spent all his time evading Castiel’s murder attempts.

The “training” the faerie had mentioned in passing on Dean’s first day in Winter turned out to be non-stop attempts on his life, anytime, anywhere, with anything. The first try had been relatively easy to deflect; Castiel had made it obvious what his intentions were, and Dean had been able to avoid the knife enough to survive. But day after day, the assassination attempts grew more and more obscure, and Dean had to try harder and harder to spot them before it was too late. The practice made him paranoid as hell, but his reaction time increased drastically, and he got quite a workout trying not to be killed every day. Through this, he also learned to control the powers that came with his position. He first discovered how to use his magic had in a fit of desperation; Castiel had him trapped in some sort of Faerie seal and was about to land an attack when Dean unconsciously lifted his hand and a bitterly cold wind knocked the faerie halfway across the room. Castiel had laughed out loud, brushed himself off, and left the room, praising Dean’s progress.

After a month of (barely) living in Winter, Castiel appeared to Dean with a rather pleased look to him. Dean immediately reached for his knife, but when the faerie made no move to attack him, he relaxed and set it on the couch beside him.

“You have an assignment,” Castiel told him. He tossed a manila folder identical to the last onto the coffee table. “This little fuck pissed off our Queen. She wants you to take care of him for her.”

“And when will I be meeting this Queen of yours?” asked Dean irritably.

“Ours,” Castiel corrected him. “You serve her; the sooner you accept it, the better. And if you’re lucky, you won’t have to meet Mab for a very long time. She’s not exactly the pleasant sort.”

“Who am I killing?” Dean emptied the folder and started thumbing through the file, only skimming through the important bits.

“Wizard. Name’s James Wiles. He summoned Mab and managed to lock her in a contract. As a result, she cannot harm him. But the deal didn’t apply to you harming him for her,” the faerie summarized.

Dean whistled. “Dumbass. Even I know not to leave loopholes like that in a deal, especially not with a being as powerful as Mab.”

“Indeed. So, I will deliver you to him as soon as you’re ready. We can provide you with any weapon you’d like.”

Dean picked up the knife again, testing the weight of the blade in his hand. “I think I’ll just stick with this, thanks.”

Castiel smiled. “Old habits die hard, I suppose. Are you ready?”

The human stood up, sliding the knife into the pocket of his jacket, and shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Castiel stared at him, his blue eyes burning holes into Dean’s face. He knew that Dean hadn’t been the same since he came to Winter. He’d lost some of his willpower, that rebellious side that the faerie had always admired. Every time Castiel reminded Dean that he worked for Mab, he saw the disappointment, the self-loathing in Dean’s green eyes, the sadness that lay there, never really showing its face, always lurking in the shadows. And deep down, that sadness made Castiel feel guilty.

“Do I have something on my face?” Dean asked, wiping absently at an imaginary imperfection.

Castiel shook his head. “Just admiring my work is all,” he lied and pushed open the door. “This way, Dean.”

Dean stepped through the door and onto a deserted stretch of sidewalk. Confused, he turned around but found nothing but street, no sign of the door he had left from. Castiel was there, though, grinning like a fool at Dean’s reaction.

“Convenient, isn’t it? I made it myself. A Way from the heart of Winter wasn’t easy to create, but I managed it in about a century. And the best part is, it can take you wherever you’d like. You just have to be specific, or you might end up somewhere completely different,” the faerie explained.

“Where’s Wiles?” asked Dean, accepting this information with nothing more than a slight nod.

Castiel frowned at Dean’s anticlimactic reaction, but pointed out an abandoned-looking building across the street. “He’s operating out of there. Just take care of him and call me when you’re done.”

“What do you mean, call you?” Dean asked.

 

“Just say my name, Dean. I come when you call. Think of me as your guardian angel,” Castiel told him.

Dean only snorted. “There’s no such thing as angels.”

The faerie shrugged. “That’s what you said about faeries, and look at you now.”

The man shifted uncomfortably. He hoped Castiel was wrong about angels. If angels were real, God could be real, and that thought made him uneasy to say the least. He crossed the street and left the faerie without another word on the subject.

Dean slipped into the warehouse through an unlocked back door and took cover, kneeling behind a stack of crates that looked as though they hadn’t been disturbed in years. He couldn’t see Wiles, but he could sense him in the large room, a little flicker of power. The magic of Winter could easily snuff him out. Dean felt the icy energy moving just beneath his skin, eager for the chance to wreak some havoc.

Silently, he peeked around the crates to spot his target. He found him almost immediately, standing with his back to him, tapping his foot in an anxious rhythm. Dean noticed that he stood in the center of a huge, intricate summoning circle, no doubt the one he used to call and contain Mab. His eyes widened a little; this kind of trap took a hell of a lot of talent and know-how to pull off. He knew that Wiles was no lightweight — he’d summoned a fucking Faerie Queen, after all — but the way he’d handled the deal seemed inexperienced, novice at best. The inconsistency was a little unnerving, enough to raise a few eyebrows, Dean’s included.

Wiles whipped around suddenly causing Dean to draw back. The wizard was a little wisp of a man, maybe in his early fifties by the look of him. Wire-rimmed glasses teetered precariously at the end of his nose, revealing wide blue eyes. When Dean dared to peer around the corner again, he saw the man shaking.

“He-Hello?” called Wiles, glancing around. “Who’s there?”

Dean hesitated. The guy looked helpless, but he was a wizard. Giving him warning could prove to be a big mistake. So he stayed put, waiting for the right time to strike.

“I know you’re in here,” he continued. “I can sense you. Mab sent you, didn’t she?”

Carefully, Dean drew the knife from his pocket. Gripping the blade in one hand, he placed his palm flat on the floor and pushed a steady flow of energy through it. A thin serpent of ice slithered across the warehouse floor toward the wizard like a shark drawn to the scent of blood.

“I expected her to send someone after me. I’m ready.”

The tendrils of ice reached the man’s shoes, encasing them, effectively trapping him where he stood. The ice snaked its way around his legs up to his knees before it stopped, settling.

“Come out and kill me,” Wiles said.

Dean blinked, taken aback. Wiles’s voice was calm, resigned. Moments before he’d been terrified, but now he was relieved?

Confident enough to come out of hiding but not cocky enough to drop his guard, Dean stood and cautiously approached the still wizard.

“You want to die?” Dean asked suspiciously, eyeing the man for hidden weapons.

“Lots of people do,” Wiles replied. “I’m acting on it. Why do you think I left Mab such an obvious loophole? I didn’t live for sixty years by making stupid mistakes like that. It was intentional.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean just stared at the practitioner, trying to decipher him. “There are easier ways to off yourself. Pills, razor blades, jumping off a bridge. Why summon a Faerie Queen?”

Wiles looked over his shoulder at the younger man, his eyes tired. “That’s hardly any of your business.”

“Seeing as I’m the dude you want to kill you, I think I deserve to know.” Dean raised the knife. “I can always make you talk.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature ran up his spine. Winter gripped Dean tighter every day, and it scared the shit out of him. He was about to carve up a man he’d never met in his life and was excited to do it. He wanted to plunge the blade into Wiles’s chest and twist it, feel the warm blood make his fingers slick and red, watch the life leave the man’s face as he sunk to his knees. Dean wanted to kill this innocent and he hated it.

But he restrained himself. He was curious as to why Wiles had basically called a hit on himself. It didn’t make any sense to go through all that trouble just to die.

“Why were you so scared?” Dean asked. “If you wanted to die, if you’d expected Mab to send someone after you, why were you scared at first?”

“It’s human nature to fear death,” Wiles replied, his words a bit hurried.

Dean walked around to the front of the wizard, meeting him face to face for the first time. The man still appeared calm, but he was sweating, and other signs of nervousness were becoming more evident by the second.

“But now, you’re totally calm. Well, calmer than earlier,” Dean mused, twirling the knife in his fingers until an idea struck him.

“You were worried it was someone else,” he realized suddenly.

Wiles bit his lower lip, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for an invisible foe. “Why won’t you just kill me?” he begged softly, as if he were trying to keep someone from hearing him.

“Tell me who you’re working for,” Dean commanded. “Who’s so scary that you’d rather face the wrath of Mab than them?”

“I can’t tell you,” Wiles said, genuine fear showing in his features now. “Please, just kill me and get it over with.”

“Tell me.” Dean raised the knife so it was eye-level with Wiles. “I won’t ask nicely again.”

Wiles stared at Dean in terror for a moment; then, he began to mutter something in Latin that made Dean panic. He hurriedly stabbed the wizard in the stomach, making him cry out and interrupt the incantation.

“TELL ME!” Dean shouted. “GIVE ME A NAME!”

“NO!” the man cried, gasping in pain. Dean gritted his teeth and twisted the knife, just enough to make Wiles scream.

“Tell me who you’re working for,” the Winter Knight growled through clenched teeth, “or I’ll just keep hurting you.”

“Ne-Nev-ver,” breathed the wounded man.

Dean ripped the knife out of his stomach and plunged it between the lowest set of ribs. Again, Wiles shrieked, and a strange mixture of pleasure and horror washed over Dean. Winter thrummed through his body as he stabbed the man repeatedly before finally letting him fall to the floor. The blood pooled beneath Wiles as he breathed his last breaths. Dean lifted one boot and stomped down on the wounds, digging his heel into Wiles’s abdomen.

“A name,” he demanded calmly.

“Lu-Lucifer,” the man whispered.

Dean stepped back and watched James Wiles die.

He suddenly felt very sick to his stomach at the high he’d gotten from hurting this poor, scared old man. Dean covered his mouth but did not throw up as he thought he would. Instead, he blurted out, “Castiel, it’s done.”

“Good boy,” the faerie said from behind him. Castiel walked around Dean to inspect the Knight’s handiwork. He prodded Wiles’s body with one foot and gave a small nod of approval. “Excellent work. You had fun with this one, didn’t you?”

Dean ignored Castiel’s scarily true comment and said, “He was working for someone, a guy who calls himself Lucifer. He was apparently more scared of him than he was of Mab.”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, his face suddenly serious.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. He told me so with his last words.”

The Fae nodded to himself, processing this. Then, he looked up at Dean and grinned. “You did wonderfully, Dean. Mab will be pleased.”

Dean only grunted, still caught in a tangled web of emotion he didn’t dare disturb. Castiel watched the conflicted Dean for a moment before opening a Way back to Winter and leading the poor Winchester through.

“Your progress will be rewarded,” Castiel assured Dean.

“Can I see my brother?” Dean asked immediately.

Castiel sighed. “Soon, Dean. Soon, I promise. But not now.”

The human looked at his blood-soaked shoes, using all his remaining will not to punch Castiel across the room. Every time he asked to see Sam, he was given that response, and Dean was getting pretty damn tired of it.

“Get some rest,” Castiel suggested to Dean. “I’ll visit tomorrow, same as always. If you need anything, call.”

“I need to see my brother,” Dean murmured.

But Castiel was gone.

…

As soon as he was sure he was alone, Dean stripped down and took a shower. The blood turned the water on the floor of the tub a pinkish red, and Dean kicked at it, pushing it toward the drain. He didn’t want to be reminded of his misdeed, the murder that he had so wrongly enjoyed. What the fuck was wrong with him? An adrenaline rush is one thing, but actually enjoying causing the death of a righteous man? He’d never gone this far dark-side before, and it was really beginning to scare him.

And he’d noticed something else as well, something that bothered him almost as much as his sudden bloodlust. When Castiel had praised him… He’d been so proud. Like a child whose father had told him he’d done a good job. Hearing those words of approval come out of the faerie’s mouth made him want to slaughter an army of Wileses, anything to please Castiel. He needed the approval again, even now, as he stood in the shower trying to forget what he’d done, he longed for Castiel to be happy with him, to tell him he’d done “wonderfully” again. God, he felt like a crack addict searching for a way to get his next fix.

Castiel. Ever since he’d come to Winter, he couldn’t keep those sapphire eyes out of his head. That inhumanly gorgeous face laughed at him in his dreams and watched his every move relentlessly in the day. Dean pretended he couldn’t stand him to mask his deep attraction to the faerie. This lust was just wrong — they weren’t even of the same species — and to distance himself from it, he ignored the feelings by focusing on the awful things the Fae had done to him. He tried to hate Castiel.

Now, he was beginning to realize that it wasn’t working.

Dean felt himself getting hard just thinking of the faerie. His hand unconsciously reached out to turn the knob for cold water, but he stopped. Maybe if he allowed this to happen — just once — it would be enough. Maybe the desire would subside, or at least become more manageable. Yes, if he gave himself this one lapse in constraint, he’d be able to control himself.  
Gently, Dean gripped the base of his cock with one callused hand and stroked upward, hardening himself even more. His eyes fluttered shut and the image of Castiel formed in his mind, the smirking faerie licking his lips and offering encouragement.

“That’s right, Dean. Keep going. You want to please me, don’t you?” the faerie purred.

Dean quickened his pace until pre-come beaded at his slit. He slicked his fingers with it and continued to stroke his shaft, softly but desperately, breathing in short grunts and gasps.

“Good boy, Dean. You’re doing beautifully,” Castiel emboldened him. The imagined voice was at his ear, the illusion so complete that he could feel the cold, minty breath on his neck. Dean shuddered despite the dangerously hot shower.

“Cas—” moaned Dean, his voice so wrecked with want he couldn’t finish the name. His cock throbbed in his hand, purple with restraint. He was almost there, so close to that blissful edge he could taste it.

“Come for me, Dean,” Castiel urged him. “I want to see you come.”

Dean upped the pace again until — yes! — he was there, stumbling over the brink of release, coming with a cry that left his voice raw and shot. He could still hear the imaginary Castiel murmuring praise in his ear as he rode the aftershock of the orgasm on the floor of the shower. It was then that Dean knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

He’d never be able to deny his lust for Castiel after that.

…

Dean woke up to a tender touch at his shoulder. Instinctively, the Knight recoiled and grabbed the knife he stored under his pillow, raising it to protect himself from the expected ambush. Instead, he was greeted with a youthful, familiar face, glazed eyes staring at him mindlessly.

“What the…” Dean muttered. The girl was human, no older than seventeen, with a mane of auburn hair and rosy cheeks. Her face looked oddly lifeless without a smile. She wore a waitressing uniform, an apron over a white blouse and a dark skirt. Dean recognized the knee-high socks, as well as the flowery nametag hanging from her apron.

“Kyrie?” Dean asked. She showed no reaction to her name, but it was her alright, he remembered her now. What was the waitress he’d flirted with the day he killed Butcher doing in the middle of Winter?

“You like?” came a voice from behind him. Dean turned to face Castiel, who grinned like he’d just given Dean the best present in the world. “I saw you looking at her that day. I thought you might want to get to know her better.”

Dean turned back to Kyrie, the blank, dazed look plastered to her pretty features. He tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“What did you do to her?” Dean asked, quickly losing the ability to stay calm.

“She ate some Fae food,” Castiel replied. “It’s rather addictive to humans, but it won’t harm her. Just clouds her judgment a bit is all.”

“You drugged her,” Dean stated darkly. His hands balled into fists, and he could feel his nails digging into his palm.

“That’s such an ugly word,” the faerie said. “I prefer to think of it as opening her mind.”

“How much did she eat?” asked Dean, shaking with silent rage.

“Not enough to get her hooked, if that’s what you’re asking,” Castiel assured him. “She’ll go through detox, feel like something’s missing from her life, and then move on. She’ll be fine.”

“Then take her home.”

Castiel tilted his head. “What?”

“Take her home. I don’t want her, not like this. She’s just a kid, not to mention an intoxicated one. Take her back to Sampson and never bother her again.”

“You do not want your prize?”

“No.”

“Is that so? Because you body language is saying otherwise.”

Dean was suddenly very aware of the erection pressing on the fly of his jeans. He swallowed and shifted as if to hide it. Dicks don’t lie — Dean would’ve loved to take Kyrie right there until she screamed for mercy while Castiel watched. The Winter within him hungered for both blood and flesh, and Kyrie could give him both.

But that hard-on wasn’t for Kyrie.

“Take. Her. Home,” Dean growled. “I won’t ask again.”

Castiel snorted. “Fine. I’ll return her, Knight.” He crossed the room to take Kyrie’s hand and lead her to the Way between worlds. Castiel looked back before leaving and said to Dean, “You may as well give up. Clinging to your humanity will only hurt you in the end.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dean retorted stiffly. And then the faerie left, Kyrie in his wake.

Dean flung the knife in his hand, watching it quiver after it sunk into the far wall. He swore and screamed and threw anything that came within grabbing distance of his hands. Tears of anger and frustration streaked his cheeks until he flung himself on the bed and just laid there, to tired to cry anymore. He was done. Done resisting, done trying to cling to his old life when it wasn’t there anymore. Sam probably thought he was dead by now. He didn’t really have any other connections aside from his brother, and come on, how sad was that? Sure, there was Bobby, but they hadn’t spoken in at least a year, and he’d probably forgotten about Dean anyway. Dean didn’t exist amongst humans anymore. He was part of Winter now, and Winter was a part of him. He belonged here, to the icy walls, to the Fae — to Mab, to Castiel.

Castiel.

When Castiel reentered the room, he was surprised to find it in such disarray. He knew Dean was upset about Kyrie, but the destruction seemed a little excessive. The faerie raised his guard and warily searched for the Winter Knight, finding him lying on the bed, motionless.

“Dean? Is everything all right?”

Dean hesitated. What if Castiel rejected him? He’d lose his mind. He’d already destroyed himself by giving in to Winter; if Castiel didn’t want Dean, he had no purpose but destruction. He would become nothing more than a tool. But if one person still wanted him, just one, maybe he’d be able to hold on to his humanity.

“Dean?”

He heard Castiel approach the bed with caution. Dean sat up, visibly shaking. The moment of truth was upon him.

“Cas-Castiel,” Dean stammered. “I-I-I need you.”

The words were so small and hesitant that Castiel almost didn’t hear them. Before the faerie could reply, Dean was off the bed and kissing him with a fervor he hadn’t expected of the reluctant Knight. Dean cupped Castiel’s face and kissed him pleadingly, desperately. The faerie’s lips were soft and pliant on his, and Dean nipped at them sloppily. Castiel smiled into the kiss and ran his tongue across Dean’s lower lip. Dean opened his mouth to Castiel unblushingly, kissing the faerie as if to inhale him. Castiel raised no complaints, pressing himself against the Knight, their erections touching through their clothes. The contact sent fire through Dean’s veins, and he grabbed Castiel’s hips and grinded against him, moaning. Castiel chuckled, running his fingertips over Dean’s body teasingly, driving the Knight mad with lust. With a little snarl, Dean forced the Fae onto the bed, tearing at his clothes to get to the flesh, yes, cool, soft skin on his, the sensation was to die for, to kill for. He kissed his way from Castiel’s lips to his hips, stopping only for a moment to remove the pants that lay in his way. Castiel was already hard for him, and he moaned when Dean took him in his mouth.

“Shit,” Castiel groaned. He hadn’t expected Dean to be so warm, so willing.

Dean took Castiel to the back of his throat, slipped up to his head to nibble and suck, and then dipped down again. Castiel smiled absently, letting his Knight have his fun. It would take a lot more than that to make him come. He prided himself on his self-control.

When Dean realized he wasn’t getting anywhere with this, he climbed on top of the faerie, unbuttoning his own jeans. He was so hard it hurt, and as his pants and underwear fell in a heap on the floor, the relief alone almost made him lose it.

“Turn over,” Dean grunted.

“What?” asked Castiel.

“You heard me.” Dean was going to have one hell of a good time dominating this bastard. Oh, he could see it now, Castiel, back arched into him, screaming for more as he thrust into him over and over and over until he came.

Dean’s fantasy disappeared when Castiel threw his head back and laughed.

“You think you’re going to dominate me? Please, Dean, have a little sense. I understand you’re a little wrecked right now, but do try to keep your wits.”

Suddenly, Dean was facedown on the bed, held there by Castiel’s pure will. He felt something cool and sharp run down his spine; the faerie had tried to kill him too many times for Dean not to recognize the feel of his knife’s tip.

“Now, that’s much better,” Castiel purred. “Maybe it’s not quite what you had in mind, but I think you’ll enjoy yourself. After all, you only want to gratify me, isn’t that right, Dean?”

How the hell does he know? Dean wondered, but he didn’t have time to think on it before the knife bit into his skin. The Knight whimpered as the blood rolled down the small of his back and over the curvature of his ass. He felt Castiel make more cuts, just small incisions in his back, and moaned as the faerie smeared the blood across his back. When Castiel set the knife aside, Dean’s back was a mess of blood and little gashes. Castiel didn’t know if he’d ever been so hard in all his long years.

“You look so beautiful, Dean,” Castiel breathed in his ear. Dean recalled the daydream he’d entertained in the shower and felt warmth begin to stir in his belly.

“Please,” Dean begged. “I want to please you.”

“Oh, you are,” the faerie assured him, his tongue lazily flicking across one of the scratches, leaving a little blood on his pale lips. “You are making me very happy, Dean. Very happy. And you’re about to make me even happier.”

Castiel began to stroke himself, the blood rubbing off onto his cock, leaving it slick and red. Dean whined when he heard the Fae pleasuring himself, but Castiel promised that he wouldn’t leave him hanging, that he was just getting himself ready. And then, all of a sudden, Castiel slammed into him, hitting home on the first try. Dean shrieked, barely restraining orgasm.

“Christ,” Dean breathed.

“Say my name, Dean,” Castiel implored him. “Please.”

He slid out and back in, the blood easing his motion. His fingers curled into Dean’s hips and held him in place as he thrust against the human.

“Castiel,” Dean groaned in compliance with the Fae’s request. “Oh, Cas-hngh!”

He came without warning, having only just contained it twice before. Castiel rode him through the orgasm, not nearly done with his Knight.  
Castiel fucked Dean a few minutes more, getting himself nice and close to the brink before pulling out and ordering Dean to finish him with his mouth. Dean eagerly climbed between Castiel’s spread legs, dipping his head again to take the bloody cock again. A shudder ran through Castiel as Dean’s warmth surrounded him once more. Dean’s head bobs up and down slowly, developing a pattern. Every time Dean’s tongue brushed the underside of Castiel’s cock, or his teeth caught gently at the tip, the faerie stiffened and grabbed at Dean’s hair, feeling the orgasm building.

He drew closer and closer until he knew he was almost there, and he barked at Dean to stop. With a little coercion (i.e., Castiel dragging him off by his hair), Dean once again knelt between Castiel’s legs and Castiel stroked himself to the finish, coming all over Dean’s face, his Fae semen glittering like liquid gold in Dean’s hair and on his lips. Dean smiled at the faerie when he sat up to inspect his handiwork, and accepted the heavy kiss, the taste of blood and semen lingering in his mouth when Castiel backed away.

“You did wonderfully,” Castiel told him softly, laying him down and placing light pecks on both of Dean’s eyelids. “Rest, my Knight. We have much to accomplish when you wake.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fic I wrote for my then-friend, now-girlfriend, so I dedicate it to her. I hope she enjoyed her fucking glitter semen.  
> Also, I give some credit to Jim Butcher, as I drew quite a bit of the Faerie lore from his Dresden Files series.


End file.
